


mama said don't disappoint.

by aintashes (graysn)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Oneshot, a day in the life, daryl dixon is the saddest boy, walking dead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 18:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15149027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graysn/pseuds/aintashes
Summary: an original oneshot about a day in the life and mind of daryl dixon. please note that this may be trigger heavy for past abuse and self degradation. thank you for reading.





	mama said don't disappoint.

You wake in the morning before the sun rises. Always before the sun rises. It’s a habit that’s been instilled in you since you were small, and after nearly 50 years, it’s not going away any time soon. And besides, you like waking up this early, despite some pestering and the all-too common exclamation of _oh, I couldn’t do that!_ from various Alexandrians.

Waking this early gives you time to think to yourself while you’re getting ready for the day. Time to wander outside once you’re dressed to look up at the stars for a while. And as you gaze up at that dawning sky, deep blues and purples bleeding into soft reds and oncoming oranges, you say to yourself:

_Don’t disappoint._

You hear it in your father’s voice most often, but sometimes, it’s in Merle’s. less often, it’s in your uncle’s. Either way, it’s something to spur you on every single day, before you get to work: something you heard all throughout your childhood in order to press you to new expectations for yourself, as well as new failures to beat yourself up about. No matter which voice it is, it’s relentless, and all day they chime in while you’re doing your diurnal tasks. _Tie that tighter!_ Merle will rasp in your ear as you set a trap outside the walls. _What are you tryin’a catch with a knot that gentle, huh? Lilies? Put some strength behind it, Darylina!_

_Always knew you were worthless,_ your father will growl. _Least Merle’s got some skills t’make up for it. What are you good at, boy? Huntin’? Anyone can hunt. These people don’ need you. Ain’t nobody need your sorry ass. Should’a went up in flames with your Mama. Make everybody’s lives easier._

You always try to shake Dad’s voice out of your ears like it’s water, but it never leaves. It may go quiet for a little while, but it’ll always be there, bright and early the next morning, with those same words: _Don’t disappoint._

Throughout the day, you try to hide the fact that you’re falling apart at the seams from your family. Sometimes, you almost think that they’ve noticed a loose and fraying string, or a shiny metal pin holding two of your sides together limply—– but for the most part, you think you’ve kept all of your sadness and worthlessness inside. Good thing, too: you wouldn’t want anyone fussing over you. you’ve never liked being fussed over.

Even as a boy, when your mother would lick her thumb and rub at your cheek to remove some smudge of dirt (or, if she were drunk enough, a bruise), you would whine and push her hands away. And she’d smack you for your behavior, but at least it would make her stop mashing at your face with her bony, yet warm fingers (you’re sure the only reason they were ever warm was because she smoked so many cigarettes. otherwise, they’d be cold as ice, you just know it).

Speaking of your mother, her words are there, too. But hers aren’t like the others’. Rather than coming down on you, she’s the soft and yet chilling voice in the back of your head that sweetly reminds you that it’s your fault Denise is dead every time you pass the infirmary. She’s the one that whispers Beth’s songs in your ear as you walk down the street. She’s the one that smiles as she calls Sophia’s name from the back of your mind. She is your nightmares, reminding you of everything you did wrong and what you could have done, but now will never have the chance to.

And when your day is done, when you’ve satisfied your stomach with something to eat and you’ve washed off the gunk and grime of an afternoon of work, Merle asks you if you want to be tucked in, _because you’re such a god damn baby, ain’t you, little brother?_ It’s a miracle you get any sleep at all. Sometimes you don’t.

You do realize that it’s _**you**_ telling yourself these things. It’s _**you**_ that’s remembering everything they would say, and bringing their voices back to life in your own head. But somehow, it’s more comforting hearing it from them than hearing it in your own voice. Somehow, it’s easier this way, dealing with all of your guilt and your anger and your suffering.

You never have done well with your feelings.

When you wake (or when the dawn starts to arrive, if you didn’t sleep), you look at the stars as you ready yourself for the day. You watch their twinkling lights fade as orange takes over the sky, and then yellowish pink— and finally, the first pale blue light of morning. And as you get to work, you say to yourself:

_Don’t disappoint._


End file.
